


Watching

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Series: Skin-changer [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Group Sex, Invisibility, Jealousy, Kink Meme, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Pegging, Scars, Sensory Deprivation, Size Kink, Spitroasting, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A frosty Courier Six enjoys the company of large, quiet men.</p><p>(Chapters 1-5 revised, updated 3/19/15)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier Six and Keene enjoy each other's company more than one might expect. (Tl;dr Keene will whore himself out for Stealth Boys.)

He hates her the moment he sees her.

He hates her for being human. He hates the way her eyes flick about, watching. Always watching.

He hates the way she approaches Marcus, overly familiar and presumptuous. He hates that Dr. Henry needs her for his research. But most of all, he hates how she can growl a few brief words and send the NCR mercenaries harassing their town running, doing what _he_ failed to do because he is chained by Marcus’ commands.

So he watches her. Always watches her.

So when she watches him back—boldly staring, lips turned down in a snarl—he seethes.

But she is the first to approach.

“Stop staring, nightkin.” Her voice is like razors slicing the air. He blinks. Frowns. That’s normally his line.

“Never seen such pretty scars before?” she challenges. Her thumbs are tucked into her belt, too casually to be anything but poised. It also keeps her hands near her pistols, he notes. He also glances beyond her eyes, belatedly realizing that yes, she does have scars—two livid comets streaking across her scalp, tails licking past her ear.

“No,” he admits tersely.

Her eyebrows just rise in response.

“Well, you got your fucking thrill, so look elsewhere.” Their gazes lock, each willing the other to break contact. Keene has had a lot of practice staring others down, but her penetrating gaze makes him feel itchy and uncomfortable, especially without his stealth field. Rather than back down, he asks a question in turn. Deliberately, he selects one most likely to provoke her.

“How did you get those?” He raises his hands to point, finger hovering scant inches from her face. He does not actually touch her—they are far too visible, and Marcus would intervene—but he leans in closely, intent on crowding her space. To her credit, she does not flinch.

“Shot in the head and left for dead,” she says flatly, eyes blank as stones.

Keene bares his teeth in a smile. It must be a smile, because his lips are turned up, right? “And what happened to the one who did that?”

Her eyes gleam, baring her teeth right back in a smile that borders on a snarl. “I shot him. Only needed _one_ bullet to do the job _right_.”

Keene can respect that.

* * *

 

She comes to Jacobstown every few weeks. Occasionally she brings others, but usually it’s Lily. Keene does not approve of Lily’s senile attachment to the Courier, but at least it’s better than bringing other humans.

They do not watch each other.

Instead, they lean with their backs to the wall, watching the snow fall. They are side by side, human and nightkin, and the silence is a comfort. It is not a silence of companionship, but one of easy familiarity with the texture of solitude.

Even side by side, they are alone.

* * *

 

Eventually, after a few months of visits, his curiosity is piqued. Most humans stare too much, chatter too much. He takes a perverse joy in taking that role himself.

“The beret. What does it say?” he asks, flicking a finger at the jaunty red cap on her head.

“’The last thing you’ll never see,’” she quotes. “It’s a sniper’s slogan.”

He grunts approvingly, nodding. “Fits nightkin too.”

She grins, moonlight gleaming off her teeth. “I know.”

They stand in easy quiet for the rest of that night.

* * *

 

A few more weeks pass. Keene is dimly aware that she is building a reputation for herself in the Mojave; she reputedly destroyed several Fiend bosses, retrieving their heads for the NCR bounties. She completely annihilated a Legion camp with only a modified Eyebot and an ex-soldier as companions. She dared a no man’s land of flying artillery in order to recruit an insular and prickly people to her cause. She has supposedly done all this and more.

But he never hears of that from her. Whenever they are together, they simply watch the wind rustle the trees.

He normally does not like humans and their noise. But he does not trust this one’s silence. So he asks, “Why do you keep coming here?”

“For the solitude.” Her gaze is fixed on the tree line.

“You are an odd human.”

“I am an odd _person_ ,” she corrects.

He nods agreement, and she gives him a sidelong glance. It disquiets him, but at least she is not staring directly.

“Also, you intrigue me,” she admits.

He snorts, watching his breath plume in the frigid air. “Why?”

“I like ‘em big and quiet.”

He mulls that over. He would have thought no human woman would be interested in a super mutant or nightkin, but as she admitted, she is odd. “What of the man in dark glasses?” he asks after a while. “He is also big and quiet.”

“Not big enough,” she smirks, eyes gleaming wickedly.

Curiously, he asks, “Have you ever slept with a super mutant?”

“No, but I’d like to try. If you would be up for it.” There is no mistaking that look now, the dark heat in that gaze and her predatory smile.

He considers it, intrigued by the possibilities.

She chuckles and adds, “I have some Stealth Boys to sweeten the deal…”

That is the final weight in her favor, tipping the balance of his decision. “Then let’s try this.”

She laughs, a sharp, high sound like breaking glass.

* * *

 

They are in his room now, the door closed behind them. She starts by stripping him, her hands warm despite their calluses. She is not a small woman, though she looks small next to any of the mutants—but his pulse quickens at the contrast between them, thinking of how she would look spread below him.  He groans when she leans in to kiss his belly, tongue flicking lower to brush over his swelling erection. When he tries to take her clothing off, she simply shakes her head and slaps his hands away.

 “I have a lot more scars,” she says by way of explanation.

He growls, frustrated. “I do not like being seen, but I am here.” He wonders why she thinks she can look past his coarse features and monstrous size, but he can’t look past her scars. Then again, ‘big and quiet’ is a fetish in its own right. If she can have her fetish nightkin fuck, he’s allowed his fetish human.

She chuckles, knife-edged grin playing across her cheeks. “Let’s do something with that bandanna, why don’t we? If you’re up for it…”

He allows her to coax him into removing it, and she binds it across his eyes in a loose blindfold. It irritates him, being robbed of one of his senses—even for sex, even for the sake of a half dozen Stealth Boys—but it heightens all the other sensations. The rustle of cloth on flesh as she strips down echoes through his ears, and the soft catch of her breath, combined with an odor of sweet musk, lets him know that she is fondling herself even before she presses herself against him, guiding his fingers to her folds. Memory guides him from there; too long since he’s slept with a human woman, or been human himself, his hands instinctively trace a larger path. Too large, her breath hissing in frustration—but he angles, uses his fingertips rub about the fleshy nub of her clitoris in a lazy figure-eight pattern. She grinds herself against his wrist, groaning as her breasts press against his torso. He cannot see her, but can feel her warmth and perspiration, the slickness between her thighs running down and coating his fingers. He can imagine her mouth hanging open as she pants, hot puff of breath against his chest.

Then she cries, comes, and pushes him back onto the bed. She is too small to have real force, but he complies, lying back and letting her straddle his form. She kisses his cock, lapping her tongue about him and stretching her mouth to embrace his shaft. Moaning, she starts stroking him, nuzzling against his balls as her breath stirs over his skin. He feels the wet heat of her against him, her sopping cunt pressed against his thigh while her mouth tenderly ministers to his erection.

“God _damn_ , you’re thick as my arm…” she whispers, trying to wrap her fingers about his cock. He can feel her trying, squeezing, and failing to make fingers and thumb meet.

“You said you liked them big,” he growls, already losing patience with the blindfold. When he reaches up to remove it though, she slaps his hand again. It is little more than a sting, but his pride still smarts as she tightens the blindfold. It is just a little too tight now, the knot catching behind his ear.

“That stays on, Keene. No blindfold, no Stealth Boys.” Despite the playful tone, there is a harsh edge to her words that says she is dead serious.

He would have fucked her without the Stealth Boys, but some gnawing disquiet tells him that by accepting payment, he accepts her terms. And regardless, she is worthy of respect. So he grumbles, “Bah. Humans.”

“I know. Fuck ‘em, right? Why don’t you start with me?” He can feel her thighs clasping his hips now, her warm body squirming against his as she settles her hands on his shoulders for leverage. He grips the base of his cock, holding it up a bit as she adjusts herself on top of him. Being unable to see does not hinder him at all; some things are better done by feel, and when he presses himself to her opening… that is the best feeling, her heat and tightness guiding him more than sight ever could.

She groans, moans, and sighs, easing herself down him. He hisses in frustration, feeling only a few sweet inches of him inside her, almost painfully tight, before she rocks up again, then down, trying to ease her way in an inch at a time. He settles his hands on her hips, trying to guide her into a faster rhythm, but she digs her nails into his shoulders.

“Slow, Keene. It’ll fit, but gotta take it slow,” she whispers, and her caution irritates him.

“I don’t want to take it slow. I want to _fuck_ you,” he grits out. He wants to flip her over, slam his hips to meet hers, brace her knees wide and grip her ankles. He wants to _wreck_ her, go as hard as she can take it—but that’s obviously not in the cards tonight.

He can imagine her look of frustration—or possibly amusement?—as she shifts forward, kissing the tip of his nose while her breasts brush his chest. He can feel her puckered nipples with perfect clarity, no sight required. She smells faintly of sarsaparilla, sweet and herbal.

“We’ll get there, I promise. Just… oh…”

She makes more noises, sighing and crying as she starts taking more of him inside her. Eventually, torturously, she works her way completely down, until the entirety of his cock is encased in her tight flesh, almost vice-like in its intensity. He groans, trying now to urge her to move faster, but she only adjusts. He can feel her feet braced against his thighs now, body tilting forward, and is about to object that he wanted it _faster_ , not a different position, but then her hips takes off like a piston. Using his thighs to give herself a better vantage, she starts _moving_ now, breasts slapping against his chest and her palms digging into his shoulders as she cries, and he’s crying too, squeezing her ass and feeling the jiggle of her flesh under his hands…

“Fuck, _yeah_ ,” she moans, and she is coming, just as he is coming, their orgasms in coordinated synchrony that he would not have expected. It might surprise him, if he had any spare thought processes devoted to relaxing in this feeling. Warm woman on top of him, around him, his seed leaking out of her, dripping down in a sticky pool... Not a bad exchange for Stealth Boys, he reflects.

There is no time spent on cuddles or caresses. She got what she wanted, after all. He can feel the blankets tugging under him, and sourly reflects she is probably wiping herself off. On _his_ blankets. Then there are more sounds of cloth on skin, her getting dressed before untying the bandanna from his eyes.

He blinks at her, yawning theatrically. She looks just as before, only slightly mussed. Looking closely, he can see the hair plastered to her scalp, but she could also pass for just returning from a hike in the mountains.

“Where are my Stealth Boys?” he demands.

She chuckles, one corner of her mouth tugging up in a lopsided smile. “Right here,” she says, counting them out from her backpack. “Would you be willing to trade again in the future?”

He hefts the Stealth Boys, their presence reassuring in his palm, and glances at her. Feels the stickiness of the sheets, and the tackiness of his own semen drying against his skin. Her scent lingers in the air like cheap perfume.

He nods.

“If you have the Stealth Boys, we have a deal.”


	2. Hands in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier Six learns some of the disadvantages of screwing with Nightkin. (Warning: dub-con.)

He doesn’t know her name when he wakes up in the devastated kitchen, but he feels grateful. For what, he does not know. But he’d like to find out.

When he asks, she tersely replies that she’s a Courier. Two white scars lick across her scalp like comets, their tails trailing past her ear, and her hair is matted with blood. But when he tries to assist her, she only shakes him aside.

“I’m going after Elijah, Dog. Stay put.”

And because she commands, he obeys.

When finally she returns, followed by a scar-faced woman and a ghoul who sounds of smoke and history, she is just as curt.

“I’m leaving the Sierra Madre. These two are staying. And you?”

“I don’t know where to go,” the nightkin admits. He has taken advantage of her absence to cleanse himself, to wipe away the blood and filth coating every part of him. He is covered in scars, from chiseled words on flesh (‘Dog,’ but whose dog is he? Is he hers?) to the clotted bracelet left by metal teeth. He does not know how he became so badly injured, but it is nothing compared to the way the courier walks. Only the burn of her anger keeps her upright, sparks sizzling from beneath dark eyes.

“There is a place for super mutants and nightkin in the Mojave. It’s called Jacobstown,” she says in clipped tones. “I am leaving in the morning, and will escort you there if you like.”

He doesn’t want to go to Jacobstown, he does not want to leave for more strangers and places he does not remember. He wants to follow her and the roads she walks, but he does not even remember if she would care.

That night, he sleeps huddled against the wall outside her door.

The journey across the desert is uneventful. This too feels strangely familiar, as if retracing steps from another life. When he asks, she only laughs. Her laughter is dead and brittle, like twigs snapping underfoot.

“You carried me through the storm, Dog. But my Pip-Boy will guide us out.”

That night they sleep on opposite sides of a small campfire, and she lays curled on one side with her back towards him. He feels cold despite the flame and reaches for her shoulder.

There is the quicksilver flash of a knife in her hand, the blade pressed against his wrist.

“Dog. What do you want?” Her eyes are flat as stones, her head twisting to catch him in her glare.

He does not know. He does not know if this is just a fantasy of what he wants, or another familiarity from a time he does not remember. “I want to hold you,” he says tentatively, trying to carry the weight of his uncertainty like water in his hands.

But it only trickles free, lost in her dry disregard.

“No.”

“Did we—?” he starts to ask, because just as he remembers gratitude, he remembers—or thinks he remembers—a warm body on top of his and sharp laughter slicing ribbons in the night.

She softens just fractionally, though the knife is still at his wrist. “Dog, you are sweet. And gentle.” Her smile broadens, almost twisted mockery as she continues without malice. “I value neither of those traits. Especially not in a lover. So go back to sleep.”

So he finally does, the fire’s crackle blending with the soft rasp of her breathing.

* * *

 

The rest of the trip passes with few words and fewer explanations. When finally they reach the lands she knows—places she need not constantly check her Pip-Boy’s navigation, places she seems to know like the taste of blood in her mouth, breathing deep and coming into her own like a predator returned to its den—she is more willing to break the silence, giving curt commentary on the places they pass and the roads they walk. Dog learns of the NCR and the Legion and an old man ensconced in the heart of New Vegas, of a war brewing and decisions that must be made. But he learns more from what she does not tell him, of her keystone position and how events shape about her. She is important to more than just a scarred nightkin.

But she mentions no one of special importance to her. There are companions she travels with, but they have no hold on her heart. She walks a path of frigid isolation, emanating chill even in the sweltering heat of the Mojave sun.

So when they finally climb the long road to Jacobstown, he does not stare in wonder at the snow on the ground or the immense bighorners sequestered in their pen. He does not marvel at the company of so many like him, green and purple warriors who bear scars and history on their bodies and their minds.

What catches his attention is the subtle softening of the courier’s eyes. She is still hard, but there is heat as her lips curl up in a savage grin.

“Hello Keene. I brought Stealth Boys.” Even her voice is different, dark and dangerous like a river running over sharp stones. “And Dog,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

The other nightkin looks him over, teeth bared in a snarl as he catches sight of the words on Dog’s chest. Reading his rage, the woman snorts, “Not my work, Keene. Let Marcus handle the welcome wagon. I’d rather do our usual trade.”

At last, Keene mutters, “Very well.”

Dog is turned over to a friendly super mutant with an orange shoulder pad, but has difficulty concentrating on the orientation. They are offering him a place, a job, a doctor—one who works with nightkin, something that Marcus emphasizes after learning of Dog’s memory loss. But Dog does not want any of those. He wants to follow the courier.

So when Marcus finally sets him loose, he drifts back to the main lodge. When he asks where to find the courier, he is told she is with Keene. When he asks where to find Keene, one of the nightkin just chuckles and points. Dog ignores the trailing warning that they may prefer privacy.

Walking down the hallway, he quickly realizes _why_ they need privacy. Courier Six, normally silent as the moon across the sands, is _moaning_. Gasping, each breath a ragged release over the sound of flesh on flesh. Keene’s deep growl is a lazy undercurrent, the nightkin leader occasionally grunting in response when she impatiently commands him to tilt his hips, or to squeeze just a bit harder…

Cheeks burning, Dog lingers outside the room. Spying feels wrong, but he’s not _really_ spying. He just wants the courier, even if she is busy mating with another.

_“Dog, you are sweet. And gentle. I value neither of those traits. Especially not in a lover.”_

Her cruel words echo through his mind, and he wonders what she does value. Keene, at least. Keene is neither sweet or gentle.

“Fuck _yeah_ …” she moans, and then a painful sound, voice muffled as if trying to swallow her building excitement. A subdued scream smothered against skin, and the sound of them talking. Keene and the courier waste no time on pleasantries and she emerges before long. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes glitter with pleasure. Dog wishes he had been the one pleasing her.

She cocks an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms impatiently.

“Courier. I want—I want to follow you. You know I am strong. You know I could—“

“No,” she says curtly, already walking past him.

Rather than let her escape, he catches her wrist. “Courier—“

“Touch me again and there will be blood.” Her eyes are like vipers’.

“Bah. Humans,” Keene chuckles, leaning in the doorway. His bandanna is rumpled and off-center, but otherwise the nightkin shows little evidence of having just had sex. “Marcus’ rules are we do not touch the humans who visit.” His grin broadens, sharp and nasty. “Unless they want us to.”

Dog releases her, and she walks away with quick, even strides.

Keene spends the rest of the afternoon talking with Dog, trying to teach him the things that Marcus didn’t; talk about the Stealth Boys and the search for a cure, of Keene’s own plans and contingencies should the doctor fail to deliver. Dog cares little, only nursing the sullen injury of the courier’s rejection.

It’s even worse when Keene catches his interest and laughs crudely. “It’s just fucking. She likes big cocks and is willing to trade Stealth Boys for sex.”

Finally, that catches Dog’s attention. If she does not want sweet and gentle, if all she wants is a cock to split her apart…

He knows she is spending the night in one of the abandoned cabins, and he knows Keene has a fresh stock of Stealth Boys. That’s enough for the beginning of a plan.

* * *

 

She unpacks her few belongings, sorting the goods she’ll keep from the ones she intends to sell once back in Vegas. There is a definite swing in her step, the hot flush of Keene’s semen still dripping down one thigh as she smiles to herself. One definite bonus to coming to Jacobstown.

Shame she has to pay him each time, but at least it keeps things nicely distant. And since she’s paying him, she gets to dictate the terms of the sex.

Not for the first time, she reflects that perhaps she should have left God as the dominant personality, rather than this pale shadowed synthesis of the two… but there had been choice to make, and her decision’s done. No sense in wasting regret on the past.

She hears the door creak open, and glances up to see no one there. Wait—she recognizes that ripple in the air, the shimmer of someone moving under a stealth field.

“Who’s there?” she challenges, immediately reaching for her gun.

The intruder gives an inarticulate groan—and she laughs with pleasant surprise. Must be Keene. Has to be Keene, since he shuts the door and takes her arm, clasping the curve of her bicep between thumb and forefinger. Delicate, strange—not unpleasant though. She re-holsters her weapon and lets him lead her to the bed, mock-wrestling as his breath rustles over her scalp and he pushes her into the mattress. His broad tongue runs along her cheek and over one ear, as if to taste her very essence, and she feels the obscene bulge of him against her thigh.

“Oh _fuck_ , Keene,” she sighs. ”Didn’t think you’d be ready to go again.”

Keene growls in response, unzipping her out of her stealth suit and kneading at her breasts through the thin material of her undershirt. He is rougher than usual—not more than she likes, but more than she usually tells him— causing her to gasp and moan. But when he tries to pull her shirt up, she snaps, “ _No_.”

There are scars and burns etched in her skin, souvenirs from Cook-Cook. She’s made damn sure that no one besides Violet or Doc Mitchell has ever seen them, and Cook-Cook’s memories—assuming the chem-addled monster could remember anything past his last hit of Psycho—all fell apart when she ran a  Ripper through his neck.

Normally Keene would stop, unwilling to risk losing the Stealth Boys she promises, but this time—

For the first time in a long while, she feels an icy trickle of fear down the back of her neck. She doesn’t mind paying for sex because then she gets to set the rules. If Keene’s offering a fuck without payment, she’s lost her leverage.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she growls. “You know the drill. Put on a blindfold or leave my shirt on.”

The nightkin just nuzzles at her neck, teeth grazing flesh as his hands creep up her shirt, tracing broad hands over the muscles of her belly, over the taut lines of her hips and the soft swell of her breasts.  But he keeps pushing and pulling, the shirt rising higher. Exposing her navel, then a section of shiny red scarring that will never fully heal.

“ _Leave my shirt on or you’re never getting Stealth Boys again_ ,” she snaps, infuriated. That seems the final trigger for his rage, as he then _rips_ her shirt off, the fabric tearing as he presses his lips over her nipple, biting and suckling as she howls, fists beating impotently about his shoulders. He cares little for the stories of her scars, the slick shine of injured flesh. Instead he focuses on the softness of her chest and the taste of her skin, his body pressing her down and leaving her unable to fight free.

And yet… treacherously, her cunt is dripping wet. She tries to tell herself it’s just a remnant of the afternoon fuck, her body still keyed up for sex and easily aroused. But when he peels her out of the rest of her clothing, she does not fight as much as she could. She cusses and groans and bites his hands, but she still kicks off her boots for him. The novelty of having sex with an invisible lover means that every touch comes as a surprise, and she damn near sings when he starts nuzzling his way down her belly, licking and tracing wet lips over skin.

It takes her a few moments to realize what he’s doing. Because _damn_ it had been a while since she’d gotten head, since she doesn’t normally ask for it and Keene doesn’t offer. But now he’s between her legs, using his thick fingers to open her up like a flower as his tongue slips over her clit with broad licks. The courier knows she must still taste of cum and lust, his own sharp alkaline flavor playing against the back of his throat, but the man doesn’t stop. Instead he groans appreciation, slipping a finger into her slick folds and thrusting.

“Hey, why so gentle?” she asks tauntingly, finally giving up on her token-fight. If Keene doesn’t give a damn about her scars, she’ll try not to either. This kind of sweet and tender doesn’t seem his style, but maybe this is what he _thinks_ she wants. So when he growls against her clit, the sound rumbling through her core, she’s gratified as the thrusts picks up. He’s almost attacking her now with lips and tongue, rapidly flicking over the tiny pearl of flesh and slipping another finger into her sex. Two fingers becomes three, and then he abruptly withdraws, leaving her hissing “what the _fuck_ —“ before he probes those fingers against her ass.

She arches, pushing back in the bed from surprise—not unwelcome. He halts, so she growls “I didn’t tell you to _stop_ ,” and he presses back against her tight hole with one finger as she spreads her knees wide for him. Six clenches her fists into the blankets, bracing herself as he pushes a finger into her. He’s just so fucking _big_ , and only the slippery lubrication from her pussy made that entry possible. It still hurts a bit, the nightkin going just a little too fast and sliding in up to the second knuckle, but she likes that little edge of pain. Still, he pauses, giving her time to adjust. She can feel his hand against her ass, his fingers writhing as she tries squirming first away, then towards him, almost bucking her hips and trying to get more.

He continues licking her, and _that_ feels nice—different, more aware of how her body clenches around him, the way her pulse echoes through her ass as he brings her higher. Eventually, he brings another finger beside the first, rocking both into her.

She bites her lip, trying to keep from whining low in her throat. What little sound she makes, she smothers with one hand. He stops licking her then, just playing with her ass and grinding his digits inside her. She can almost feel the weight of his gaze on her exposed asshole, and wishes she had a mirror. Watching his invisible fingers spread her wide open must look amazing, and she bets watching his cock would be an even bigger treat.

“Hey,” she whispers, voice sultry and trying not to beg. Sex is about power, not just orgasms, and she’s lost so much of the upper hand already. “If you wanna fuck my ass, quit staring and start _doing_.”

He growls, pulling his fingers out of her and grabbing the back of her head. She’s pulled forward, and only a ripple in the air warns her before she feels the meaty slap of his cock against her cheek. He smells of pungent lust and arousal, masculine and spicy. But… different. Something about him smells a little off—sharper than usual, a metallic tang underlying his body odor. But she doesn’t have time to dwell on that before his cock’s pushing against her mouth, shoving past her lips and almost ramming down her throat. She tries not to gag, relaxing her mouth and leaving her jaw slack as she uses her tongue to swirl about his erection. Her hands circle the base of his shaft, and the strangeness of seeing her hands encircle—seemingly—nothing but air even as she feels the heat of his cock and the thickness in her mouth is weirdly arousing, making her moan against him.

All too soon he’s withdrawing, flipping her over and pressing her head into the pillow, her ass up in the air. His hands on her shoulders tells her to remain still—and he’s been so quiet, she thinks. Keene’s not much of a talker during sex, but even so this is unusually silent—but then all thought is driven from her mind as she finally feels his cock press against her wet slit. She tilts her hips upward, commanding “ _hard_ ,” and he complies. She can’t normally take him in one thrust, but it must be the position, maybe, or the fact they already had sex, since he shoves into her in one harsh thrust that shoves her into the bed.

And maybe it’s the stealth field, but this feels different too—strangely thicker, the rhythm a little off as he starts bumping back and forth, his balls slapping against her thighs and his hand smacking her ass. He starts a little hesitant, a little slow, but picks up speed as she sighs in appreciation. His massive erection might cause a different woman to faint, inner thighs stretched to aching, but Six had been fantasizing about mutant dicks long before she ever got a chance to start fucking Keene. And now—she doesn’t think she could ever go back to anything else. Not that she’s stretched out—fuck no, not when she can still get off with her own fingers-- but she can’t imagine anything else getting her as deliciously full, of giving her this incredible depth. She imagines how this must look—his clear, stealth-coated cock ramming into her pink pussy, stretching her open for anyone’s gaze, maybe with dribbles of semen still coating her walls from earlier—and again, wishes she had a mirror.

All too soon she’s coming hard, her cunt squeezing down and tightening as she groans his name. But he’s not done yet, instead pulling out and slipping his wet cock against the tight ring of her ass. Impulsively, she reaches back to squeeze her fingers over her cheeks, spreading them in clear invitation.

No rapid thrust—she’s disappointed, until she feels the cool trickle of oil over her ass, dribbling down the cleft of her cheeks. Sloppy, messy, smearing down her thighs and dripping into the bed, but it _works_. Gives him enough to play with as he works his fingers back into her, spreading a generous slick of oil that warms with her body. Then his cock, slippery and cool from another coating of lube. She moans as he slowly pushes forward, her asshole stretching to accommodate. He does little more than fuck her with the first few inches, moving back and forth and making her shudder with anticipation until she finally growls, “Fuck me.”

Then he’s in, balls-deep and testicles slapping against her reddened pussy. The rapid shove hurts, no denying that; Six almost regrets her hasty command, but the pressure and warmth of him soon drowns out any other feeling. There’s pleasure, and fulfilment, and most of all a luxurious pride in pushing her flesh to its limits. He keeps fucking her slowly, continuing to make her poor abused asshole stretch with each movement, but her cunt is dripping wet, leaving his balls slick and glistening. When she peeks down between her legs, she can actually _see_ her juices hanging in the air, coating his invisible form.

But then the door opens. She immediately yells “get the _fuck out_ ,” before her stomach flips.

That’s Keene in the doorway.

Which means…

“Who the fuck are _you_?” she demands of the stranger fucking her ass, the stranger who came in and ate her out and saw her naked and whose massive cock is still firmly between her cheeks…

The stealth field finally fails, or perhaps he turned it off. The familiar scarred skull and mismatched eyes, the words chiseled on his chest—

“Dog,” he says, though it’s hardly necessary.

“Get _off_ of me,” she spits. The scars and burns across her body are not his to see; were _never_ his to see. Nor Keene’s, even if she thought she made her peace with it.

She watches him with narrowed eyes.

Keene kicks the door shut, an easy, arrogant grin across his face. She wonders how she ever found him attractive, with that battered face and coarse features. But it hadn’t been his face that drawn her—no, but the ripple of muscle and the way he spans the doorway.

But even when his gaze lingers, he’s watching the heave of her breasts and the curve of her body, not the history on her skin. His heavy steps fill the room as he walks closer, unfastening his pants.

“Be honest. You never cared _who_ was fucking you. Just getting filled up.” He grins, loosening the bandanna about his neck.

“Why this?” she growls.

( _I thought we had a good thing going_ , she does not say.)

Keene snorts, kneeling in front of her. The bed dips with his weight and she grabs his thigh with one hand, bracing to keep from falling.

“I like Stealth Boys, but I _hate_ being commanded. So it’s your turn to lose control.”

At first she thinks he’s going to gag her, but instead he ties the bandanna over her eyes, knotting it firmly behind one ear. Dog resumes fucking her ass, pushing her forward against Keene’s hips as the nightkin leader runs his thumb along her jaw.

“I could scream,” she threatens, threat hollow in her throat.

Keene laughs, low and cruel. “And show you couldn’t handle us? Or worse, stopping this?” His cock brushes her cheek, hot and throbbing. “You can open your mouth and scream. Or suck my cock. Your choice.”

The courier growls, baring her teeth. But she does not scream. Feeling Dog’s cock slide deeper into her ass, feeling incredibly violated, anger boiling her blood and biting spite down her throat, already thinking of how to get even with both nightkin, she still can’t deny the heat pooling in her belly or the trail of wetness slipping down her thighs.

So when she finally opens her mouth, lips parted and tongue just slightly out, it’s to accommodate Keene’s cock. He still tastes of sex from their earlier bout, fragrant with musk. The man grunts, thrusting forward with one hand twisted through her hair, fucking her mouth just as thoroughly as Dog’s fucking her ass. She slides between them, knees digging into the mattress and elbows resting on the meat of Keene’s thighs as she wraps her hands around his shaft. But she does not stroke, does not squeeze or caress as she would if she were trying to pleasure him—simply braces herself to keep him from sliding down her throat.

Keene doesn’t seem to mind, using the warmth of her mouth for his own purposes. She can’t think it’s doing much for him, but his stream of dirty talk makes her think it’s the _idea_ more than the reality. A symbol of how much control he’s wrested from her, now that she’s spit-roasted between two nightkin with her cheeks bulging and ass spread. Big as they are, they could probably suspend her if they tried—Keene’s hands under her chest and Dog grabbing her hips.

She tries to pretend the thought does not arouse her.

Keene continues a dirty litany, growling about how _exposed_ and vulnerable she had been, Dog’s invisible cock splitting her open.  Talking about how in the dark, one pair of hands are so much like another’s…

Finally, Dog groans, “Coming soon.”                                             

“Fine. Fill her ass up,” Keene instructs, and the courier soon feels a thick rush of semen flooding her back passage, hot and sticky. Dog’s balls twitch against her pussy as he drains himself, finally pulling out of her with a slick pop.

Keene immediately pulls himself out of her mouth, twisting around her and bumping Dog to the side. The satisfied nightkin sits next to Courier Six, idly stroking himself as he watches Keene immediately shove himself into her just-vacated asshole. While Six can’t see him, she can feel the bed dip beneath his weight.

Six hisses in frustration at the lack of respite even as she bucks her hips back to meet Keene’s. “Didn’t know you liked sloppy seconds.”

“Not as much as you like taking it,” he grunts, setting a brutal pace as his cock rams into her. Six grits her teeth being so roughly stretched again. At least Dog’s cum acts as extra lubrication, and he left her warmed up for Keene. Dog had been trying to be gentle; Keene has no such compunctions, instead treating her like a sleeve for his cock. But because he’s going so hard and fast, he orgasms more quickly, sending a second rush of semen into her ass.

Keene withdraws as soon as he’s done, giving her ass one last slap as his cum drips out of her. Mingling with her own juices and Keene’s lingering seed from earlier, she feels like nothing so much as a sloppy mess below the waist. Irritated, she wishes she could take a shower.

“So, _Courier_ ,” Keene gloats, pulling his bandanna from her eyes and getting dressed. Dog just watches her with an unreadable expression, not bothering with his clothing. “Do you still want to trade for Stealth Boys?”

She glares at him, stone-silent as she weighs her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author's notes because I overthink things.](http://chocochipbiscuit.tumblr.com/post/88226981730/authors-notes-labels-hands-in-the-dark-and-balls)


	3. Loyal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dog and Courier Six resolve an issue of loyalty.

Courier Six glares at Dog, eyes dark and unblinking. It is just the two of them now, Keene having left the cabin chuckling. But she can deal with Keene later, and force his submission even if he won’t gift it to her.

“What do you want?” she asks finally, voice harsh like the winter wind.

“You,” he says softly, hands resting on his knees.

She laughs, high and sharp. “I thought you already had your fun.” She says this while standing up, pulling her worn shorts past sticky thighs and grimacing at the soreness in her legs. The shirt is irredeemable, so she pulls another from her pack.

“Please,” he pleads, watching her dress while deliberately facing away from him. “Take me with you.”

“I already told you ‘no,’” she snorts, twisting back to level a dead stare at him. Her lips curl down in a snarl. “And you already proved you don’t give a damn about my limits.” With a brisk yank, she pulls the shirt past her hips, once more covering her scars.

“You said you don’t like sweet and gentle.” He reaches for her, palms up as if begging, but stops just shy of touching her flesh. “I thought if I was more like Keene—“

“I don’t _like_ Keene either, but he’s good in the sack,” she says bluntly. “And I’m not sleeping with him either. Any more at least,” Six adds bitterly, crossing her arms. “I don’t have any hold on him, any respect. Thanks to you.” The last sentence is spat out, pure venom as her eyes narrow.

“I respect you,” he whispers, words like a prayer. “I owe you. I am in your debt, and if you toss me away—I am less than nothing.” Dog leans forward, daring to place a hand on her thigh. The muscles jump beneath her skin, and he sees the way she bites her lip to keep from a harsher reaction. “I am yours, if you will have me.”

Her fingers squeeze against her biceps, arms held so tight about herself that he fears she might explode if she releases the pressure. “And why should I want you?”

“Because I am loyal.” Slowly, he slides off the bed, blankets dragging as his knees reach the floor. Bent in supplication, he leans forward, resting his palms on the worn carpet. “Because I can please you, if you’ll let me. Because I am _not_ sweet and gentle, but I can be. For you.”

“You’ve got some _fucking_ issues,” she snaps, releasing her rigid posture and raising her hand. Palm flat, shoulders sideways, she brings her hand down in a ringing slap. Not a dainty, lady-like thing for show, but a powerful blow in its own right as she twists from the hips, gaining power and momentum as the slap whips through the air before lashing against Dog’s cheek.

He is still so big though, and so strong—he accepts it dully, barely flinching even as she sees the perfect blanched shape of her palm against his skin.

“Would you like to do that again?” he asks, words slurred as he winces, dark blood staining his teeth.

“You a glutton for punishment?” she challenges, hands balled into fists by her side.

Cautiously, he turns his head up, the scars on his scalp gleaming in the dark. “If that is what you wish. Please, Courier—take me with you. I am _your_ Dog, if you will have me.”

“Or until Keene asks you to do something else.” Her scowl is unforgiving, but he smiles shyly.

“No. _He_ listened to _me_ ,” he stresses, and is gratified by the sudden lift of her eyebrows, lips forming a small ‘o’ of surprise. “It was _my_ plan. _My_ idea. I asked him for the Stealth Boys, and then—I thought it might prove I am not the ‘sweet and gentle’ that you hate.”

“So why should I trust you?” she asks, casually placing her arms behind her.

Still kneeling, he murmurs, “I told you. I am your dog.”

“Loyal cur to the end,” she mutters with a sigh. Her shoulders slump, some great weight burdening her—but then she reaches out, touching his shoulder with a hand so warm it almost blazes. “I was not planning on chaining you to me, Dog.”

There are ghosts lurking beneath the words, wraiths of memory and promise, but this is not the time to bring them to light. Instead, his heart is filled with a small, fierce joy. She is not denying him.

“I don’t care.”

“What the hell.” Six chuckles, then she leans in front of him, tilting his head with one hand under his chin. She smiles, even, and this too is strange and wonderful. For the first time that he remembers, there is no sharpness, no bitter edge or calculating angles. “Maybe we can try this.”

There is no more sex or touching for the rest of that night, but they talk. She speaks of a casino haunted by ghosts and red fog, by the poisons of men’s greed and prewar histories. Of a scarred nightkin seeking a master and driven by his hunger, and the raging voice that kept him on an even keel. But mostly, she speaks of decisions, the burden of responsibility. A choice made when neither voice could choose freely…

…and this is the second time she’s chosen for both of them, chaining him ever closer.

Dog does not mind. And when she finally permits him to touch her, one arm curled protectively about her as she falls asleep, he is glad to be her dog.


	4. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier Six teaches Keene not to underestimate her.

When she finally gave him her answer, Keene just laughed dismissively.

But he hadn’t bargained on Six taking Dog with her when she left Jacobstown the next morning.

And he hadn’t bargained on her staying away for weeks, two months even—

And he _especially_ hadn’t bargained on her arranging an unofficial embargo on all Stealth Boys.

The first few weeks weren’t too bad. Keene had a decent stockpile from his previous ‘arrangement’ with the Courier, and wasn’t personally affected by the lack. But other nightkin were not so lucky, instead scrounging the surrounding areas in hopes of finding more Stealth Boys. However, the local environment had long since been scoured, and parties were strongly discouraged from going farther afield after the mess of Davison and his group at RepConn.

Even the first month wasn’t too bad. Realizing that the Courier was standing by her word, Keene arranged for a rationing of Stealth Boys. When some of his followers started to mutter, he even contributed his own stash for the general good. It would be enough to last until the next trader came by to exchange bighorner meat for Stealth Boys, he thought.

But then the traders—when they finally came—had no Stealth Boys. They had food, they had tools, they had books and all the miscellaneous items vital to keeping a town functioning, but _they did not have Stealth Boys_.

Keene, attempting to be diplomatic, merely growled for an explanation. He did not rip the man’s head from his shoulders.

Quietly, careful not to meet Keene’s eyes, the man stated that ‘certain interested parties’ had declared that any traders who sold Stealth Boys to the ‘interested party’ rather than Jacobstown would receive a substantial bonus. And that any traders who sold Stealth Boys to Jacobstown would receive a swift reckoning.

“And would this ‘interested party’ be _that fucking bitch_?” he hissed.

No need to explain who, judging by how quickly the trader blanched.

Marcus intervened at that point, soothing the trader as he physically hauled Keene aside.

“If you pissed off Courier Six, looks like you owe her an apology,” the green man rumbled. He had been disapprovingly aware of Keene and Six’s ‘arrangement,’ but not of their subsequent fallout.

Keene snorted, pride still stinging. “She’ll be back.”

Six weeks in, the situation became desperate. More nightkin were going into withdrawal, and the doctor’s ghoul assistant had to make the long trek to Red Rock Canyon in hopes of trading some of the doctor’s carefully hoarded chems for Stealth Boys.

Of course, Courier Six had hit up Red Rock Canyon too.

Then, eight weeks Six gave Keene her ultimatum, she came waltzing back into Jacobstown with Dog trailing behind her.

* * *

 

All these things run through Keene’s mind as he glares down at the courier.

“You fucking _bitch_ ,” he hisses, looming over her.

Courier Six simply stands her ground, gaze cool. Even with his frame blotting the sun, she knows he can’t truly harm her.

Much as he’d like to.

“You knew my terms,” she comments drily, arms crossed and her weight slung casually to the side. “If you are willing to deal, we can go back to our prior agreement.”

He’s full of hot rage, blood boiling and so tightly wound that his breath nearly sizzles in the frigid air as he growls, “That’s—“ _Ingenious. Clever._ He has to admire her audacity even as she frustrates him. Dog simply stands to the side, arms loose and watching the Courier. He always watches her, a loyal cur to the end.

“That’s the deal, Keene. In or out? Because otherwise I’m leaving in an hour.” Her lip turns up into a sly mockery of a smile. “Dog and I found our own sort of night-time fun.”

If it was just his own hungers, he’d refuse. He could always hunt farther afield, pay black market prices, go lock himself in an abandoned bungalow and rage and scream and smash the furniture—but he has more than his own satisfaction at stake.

If it was just her, he wouldn’t balk so hard. Their sex has always been good, at least. So there’s that in her favor.

(If it was just Dog, he wouldn’t balk either. Keene’s tumbled worse.)

It’s all those things combined that smarts.

Frustrated, humiliated by what he’s been forced to accept, he nods.

“I’m in.”

* * *

 

She waits in the cabin, straddling Dog’s lap and nuzzling against the nightkin’s collar. One of his hands rests on her thigh, the other lightly brushing the back of her neck as she nibbles his lower lip. She tugs with her teeth, eliciting a soft groan as Dog squeezes her leg.

Six wears only her panties and a white button-up shirt, nipples puckered against the cold and just visible beneath the fabric. Dog wears no shirt, allowing her hands to roam freely across the warm planes of his body as she slowly inhales his scent. He is half-hard already, his warmth pressing against her buttocks, but in no hurry to interrupt her explorations.

When the door finally opens, it is quietly. Furtively. Keene enters with silent footsteps, a stark contrast to the swagger that he normally uses when meeting the courier. She never cared who else was aware of their previous arrangement, but always suspected that Keene had taken it as a point of pride that she chose not only to sleep with the nightkin leader, but to _pay_ for his services. But there’s no pride tonight, only a heavy shame that weighs on his shoulders. She laughs at the thought, watching how Keene immediately bristles.

“Glad to see you made it, Keene.” The courier slides off Dog, patting the scarred nightkin on the shoulder as she does so. “So. I have everything we need. Would you prefer to suck my cock or Dog’s?” she asks, and her voice could almost be pleasant if it weren’t for the taunting look in her eyes.

“You don’t _have_ a cock,” Keene growls, gaze locked with hers as if attempting to dominate her through sheer force of will. Her eyebrow lifts, mouth twisting into a sardonic smile.

“Thanks to a skilled craftsman down in New Vegas, that is no longer the case,” Six purrs, pulling out the specially commissioned item she acquired from Michael Angelo. A glass dildo, thick and massive, which she works into a leather harness. The leather is butter-soft and dyed white, pristine and virginal despite its intended use.

She wriggles out of her underwear, keeping her shirt on, and watches Keene for any reaction. Rather than watch her strip, he keeps glaring at the strap-on. It fits comfortably about her hips and between her legs, the dildo’s weight giving her an instinctive urge to swagger, both with pleasure at the toy hanging from her body and a perverse desire to shock Keene. The base has a grooved ridge—recommended by Michael—that rests against her clit, providing an extra frisson of excitement with every movement.

Dog is already stripping down, scars and muscles rippling in the dim light. His dick is only semi-hard, but starts swelling as he begins touching himself, loosely wrapping his fist about his shaft. Keene watches with narrowed eyes, but she catches the way his mouth softens, unknown calculations going through his head.

“I’ll suck your… toy,” he finally says, glancing at the closed curtains over the windows.

“Excellent.” She grins, baring her teeth like a predator, and sits back on the bed with her legs spread and the glass penis jutting up. “Take off your clothes. Bandanna too,” she commands.

She thinks he might enjoy it if she were being cold, if there was an air of crisp authority to her tone—but she drawls the words lazily, insolently, knowing that he will obey regardless. Keene unknots the bandanna, tossing it carelessly to the side. Then he unbuckles his belt, moving slowly to delay the inevitable moment when he’ll be completely nude and at her mercy, bent over the bed in sacrifice to her injured pride. She wonders if is easier for him to concentrate on the small things that keep him rooted in the present, like the rough feel of cloth beneath his hands, of the chill air in the cabin that raises prickles on the back of his neck, of the scent of lust and musk emanating from the her wet pussy as she shamelessly starts stroking her cock, gripping the base and grinding slightly so it rubs her clit.

Huh, he has a boner.

 _Nice_.

“Ever sucked cock before?” she asks. She’s not taunting, but curious.

“None of your business.” Keene does not meet her eyes, his gaze carefully averted from Dog’s erection.

“That’s a yes,” she sighs, pulling her secret weapon from under her pillow. “Come here.”

He dips his head, leaning over her. She watches him carefully, heeding the tightness of his jaw and the way he presses his lips together in a thin line. She’s never let him be on top while fucking—or at least gave him _permission_ , him taking her ass aside— and wonders at Keene’s self-control, at how strong his urge must be to pin her down and violently take her. She had _liked_ it, but her preferences had been irrelevant to him that night. And so she is punishing him for the intent, not the action.

Whatever his feelings, whatever the tightly-locked rage seething beneath the surface though, she has Dog. _Her_ Dog, loyal now that they have reached a mutual understanding. And Keene knows Dog would beat him black and blue if he attempts any sort of double-cross. Keene is going to get fucked one way or another, but at least he’ll get a chance to enjoy himself if he plays along.

She has a strip of pink ribbon in her hand, the tails dotted with tiny white seed pearls. It looks out of place in this grimy little cabin, a confectionary relic of some prewar time. She ties it about his neck, fixing it into a dainty bow and carefully adjusting the tails. Veronica had been overjoyed to give her the delicate item, but probably hadn’t been expecting it to be worn by anyone other than Courier Six.

“There. Now don’t you look pretty,” she murmurs. Keene glares down at her, breathing forcefully through his nose. His shoulders twitch, and he stifles whatever response was forming.

Originally she had thought of it as just another way to humiliate Keene, but she has to admit it looks rather fetching. The soft pink gleams against his dark purple skin and the tiny pearls catch the light, drawing attention to the hollow of his throat.

“Get on your knees,” she instructs. Keene complies, the worn carpet digging into his flesh. Dog moves behind him, heavy tread echoing in the cabin’s quiet. She takes a moment to admire the view, eyes half-lidded as she watches Keene glaring, nostrils flared as he stays defiantly upright, even on his knees. But his erection betrays him, bobbing just slightly beneath her gaze. Deciding this is perfect, she reaches for one more item out of her pack. Another gift from Michael Angelo.

Keene flinches, the first crack in his defenses. “No.”

“Yes.” The camera dangles loosely in one hand as she leans forward, the cool glass pressing against her belly as she does so. One hand gently traces the line of Keene’s jaw, thumb probing the corner of his mouth. “I won’t be sharing the pictures, Keene. It’s just… insurance. In case you forget who’s in control.” The probing thumb becomes less gentle, squeezing his cheek and pinching the wet flesh of his mouth.

He shivers, an involuntary tremor as she snaps the first picture. Then she twists his head to the side, making sure the ribbon’s bow is in full view as she takes another.

“Suck.” Her hand moves from his mouth, thumb trailing a thin line of saliva along his cheek. Watching him bend, watching him lean, watching him _submit_ , all eight feet of hard muscle and fierce scowls and angry glares, brings a special flush to her cheeks. His lips part, tongue cautiously—and there’s a word she wouldn’t have thought to use with Keene—pressing against the glass dildo before he takes it in his mouth. Even without the cock being her own flesh, the powerful visual of him leaning over it, lips wet and one hand cupping about the base, serves as an erotic thrill in its own right. Even Keene seems caught in the moment, his hand starting to slowly stroke as his head bobs down her shaft. This grinds the base against her clit, and she releases a low groan. Hell, now she knows why both Dog and Keene were so eager to have her mouth on them.

Dog whines low in his throat, impatient as he continues playing with himself. He already opened the jar of lube when she wasn’t watching, and his cock glistens with a generous coating, aiding his hand as it glides up and down.

“Ready for your spit-roast, Keene?” she asks conversationally.

Keene musters enough fire to glare up, though the look is softened by his dark flush and dilated pupils. Just as earlier, their eyes lock; but this time, Keene breaks contact, closing his eyelids and making a soft ‘mm’ around the dildo in his mouth.

“Good. Let’s begin.” That is as much a signal to Dog as a warning for Keene, and she traces the back of her nails along Keene’s scalp. The man groans, thighs parting as Dog shifts behind him with the jar. She trusts Dog to take care of Keene’s ass, warming him up with fingers and generous amounts of lubrication before finally fucking him, because _she_ wants the chance to ride him hard and rough. Turnabout’s fair play, and all that.

Her knees lightly press against his arms, feet dangling off the edge of the bed as he continues sucking her cock. The glass is slick with saliva and watching his tongue swirl the tip provides another visual delight. But most of the wicked delight comes from watching Keene, the fearsome nightkin leader, on his knees and unable to refuse any demands she may inflict.

And despite his initial reluctance, Keene is moaning along, slowly bucking his hips as Dog’s fingers gently thrust in his ass. One hand slips down between his thighs, but before he can touch his cock she pinches his ear, catching the tender lobe against her thumbnail. He hisses, mouth going slack.

“Your pleasure is mine to control,” she drawls, cool and slow. “If you try touching yourself without permission, I’ll have Dog put you over his knee and spank you.”

Dog grins at her, and pats Keene’s ass to ask permission. She grants it with a brisk nod and watches as Keene’s back dips, panting around her cock as Dog presses his shaft against Keene’s asshole. She pulls herself out of his mouth, caressing his face as his lips curl into a strange expression of half-snarl, half-moan, eyes shut as he braces himself against Dog’s entry. Dog moves slowly, almost gyrating his hips rather than thrusting as he pushes past the tight outer sphincter into the inviting warmth of Keene’s ass.

“Feeling good, Dog?” she asks, flicking her gaze up.

Her follower nods, both hands resting on Keene’s hips. Almost idly, he smacks his fingers against the curve of Keene’s buttock, making him hiss in surprise. “Not as good as fucking you though.”

“We’ve had more practice,” she chuckles, pushing her cock past Keene’s lips again. He opens his mouth more readily this time, starting to suck in rhythm with Dog’s movement. “C’mon, Keene. Keep stroking my cock, but I want some fingers in me too.”

One of his hands wrap around the base of her shaft and the other traces over the warm mound of her cunt, one massive finger tracing through the line of her outer folds to gather moisture. Then it slips inside her, crooking and rubbing until she starts to sigh. Her hands linger on his head, nails grazing his skin as she gives a low groan. Dog leans over Keene, bending until his face is level with hers, and lightly presses his lips to her forehead. She shivers, the warmth feeling almost electric as it tingles against her scalp. Her clit throbs, hot and swollen as the ridges keep grinding against her, aided by Keene’s mouth and his single finger. Not enough to get off, not yet, but a sweet slow torment of its own.

Sensing her needs, Dog—sweet Dog, and she never would have thought she’d like ‘sweet’—stops slapping Keene’s ass, instead tracing a thumb over the dip of her navel and up her shirt, stretching the fabric taut as he cups one breast, squeezing and holding her while he kisses her eyelids. Six moans in response, raising her hand to cover his through her shirt. Slowly, like a building fire, she feels the heat spread through her belly, filling her extremities with a tingling sensation as if she’s been filled to the brim with raw whiskey, coursing from her clit and cunt to her breasts and Dog’s hands and his tongue on her ear as he licks and nuzzles and Keene is moaning around her cock too, and knowing that she has not just one, but _two_ men pliant and at her disposal…

“ _Fuck_ ,” she groans, sweat plastering her hair flat on her forehead as she bucks her hips, thrusting against Keene’s face. A small build and climax, not a toe-curling explosion, but still fun.

“Good?” Dog asks, sniffing her hair and sighing while his balls continue slapping Keene’s ass.

She grins, small and sharp. “Good. Let’s make you come too.”

He offers her his wrist, tilted upward in supplication. A quick sniff—and he smells of stale sweat, sharp and sour in the back of her throat, but this wasn’t the hand probing Keene’s ass earlier—and she starts licking his fingers, tracing her tongue from tip of the finger to the knuckle one by one as she moves along his hand. Then she starts sucking on his thumb, lips wrapped around him and tongue swirling in deliberate mimicry of fellatio. She flicks her gaze upward to see Dog watching her intently, eyes soft even as he starts picking up speed. Keene gives a sharp grunt against her cock when Dog rams him against her, but it doesn’t sound like he’s in pain. Quite the opposite, in fact.

So she nuzzles Dog’s hand, nose bumping his palm as her hot breath traces over his wrist, kissing the pulse and feeling his blood throb beneath the skin. Curling her lips back to graze her teeth against this sensitive area, she is gratified to hear Dog groan, just the faintest of tremors running through his hand. But he still holds still for her, quiet and obedient as she pinches the skin between her teeth. He remains just as she nips, moving along the inside of his wrist to create a neat, zipper-like pattern of teeth on skin. Sharp bursts of pain as she marks him, branding him as _hers_.

He could hurt her, she knows. Without any weapons beyond her words and her body, she could not simply inflict ownership on him. Not unless he _chooses_ to accept her. But he accepts her with each deferential look and soft sigh, every time he wordlessly asks her for permission and she grants or denies at her pleasure. Dog is hers because he chose to be, and that gives her all the more power.

And by extension, gives her power over Keene.

Six’s belly flutters, muscles tight as she slaps Keene’s shoulder. They are both hers for the night. But that doesn’t mean she can’t share, just a little.

“Rock back. Make this good for Dog,” she orders. He glares up without heat, pulling his finger out of her and bracing his hand against the inside of her thigh. His palm feels warm and heavy, almost painfully rough as he uses her for leverage. She slaps his hand, barely more than a flick of her fingers to sting his pride rather than true injury as she tersely cautions, “Careful.”  Dog growls behind him and Keene complies with a dirty look. Six bites her lip, hissing sharply through her mouth while watching Keene and Dog.

Keene thrusts his hips back just out of synchrony with Dog’s own rhythm, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack, her glass cock still bobbing obscenely in and out of his mouth. Dog sighs, resting his palm against her shoulder and eyes blank as he loses himself in the sensation. His hand tightens, fingers squeezing into the meat of her arm as he grinds his hips, sighing and panting and coming closer, closer…

Soon enough, Dog grunts, “May I?”

Six smiles, cheeks aching. “Yes.” She reaches for the camera, the bulb flashing as she takes more pictures of Keene. She’s sure to get one of his face, lips wrapped about her glass cock and eyes half-closed, gaze averted. The dark flush on his cheeks looks almost like make-up, a thought that makes her chuckle as she strokes his chin.

“Smile at the camera.”

He does not smile, but she still gets a good picture of him glaring upward. Then he grunts, bracing his forearms against her thighs in a bruising press as Dog thrusts deep. Dog growls, twitching against Keene and patting his buttocks like one-handed applause.

“Came,” he sighs.

Six chuckles, pushing away from Keene’s mouth and twisting to the side. Dog is already withdrawing, his thick white seed just visible on Keene’s asshole. She elects to document this with another photograph.

Pausing, Six reconsiders her approach. She had originally meant to just ram into Keene, fast and unyielding, but he looks strangely vulnerable spread before her. Still bent over the bed, half-propped on knees and elbows, so easily capable of _breaking_ her but choosing not to. There is no thrill in dominating someone weaker than her, but perhaps there is no shame in being gentle.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Keene grunts at last, head dipped so she cannot read his expression. But his thighs tremble, hips tilted up just slightly as she presses her cock against his tight hole.

“Are you going to beg?”

He hisses, twisting the blankets in his fists. “Bitch.”

She snickers, feeling Dog cup her breasts. His torso presses against her back, warm and reassuring as he kneads her through her shirt. The material chafes over her bare nipples and her snicker changes to a pleased moan as she relaxes against Dog. His warm breath stirs the hairs on the back of her neck as he leans down to nuzzle her.

“Asshole,” she says, almost affectionately. “I got to watch Dog ride your ass and I got some pretty pictures to wank off with. I don’t _have_ to fuck you. Unless you want me to.” She allows the words to linger in the air, grazing her nails over the curve of Keene’s buttock. She’s not interested in ‘force’ so much as ‘choice,’ a reminder that she holds the power due to far more than the strength of her arm or the accuracy of her guns.

Keene growls, head slumped between his hands. “Could I get your mouth on my cock?” He says it so softly that Six has to strain to hear it.

“You know the answer to that. And saying ‘please’ won’t kill you,” she snorts, breath catching as Dog gently nibbles at her neck, unbuttoning the top of her shirt to allow himself better access.

A long silence, and she lets herself get lost in the sensations of Dog on her body, his hands caressing her through her shirt and the way he radiates heat like a furnace, sweat sticking them together…

“ _Please_ fuck me,” Keene spits, as if the very words are poison.

She laughs, high and sharp. “All right then.”

With his arms still around her, Dog reaches down to grip Keene’s ass, squeezing firmly and spreading him open for the courier. Slowly, making sure to use the tip of her cock to stir Dog’s semen, she thrusts into Keene. Keene groans beneath her, spreading his knees farther apart. Finally taking pity on his untouched erection, she reaches around to squeeze it, the curve of her elbow fitting perfectly around his waist. He gasps at the unexpected touch, and the strange vulnerability makes her laugh again.

“Figure you’ve earned this one, Keene.”

She doesn’t care much for romance and figures she’s made her point by now. So she strokes quickly, twisting a loose fist up and down Keene’s shaft, working her way from the thick base up to the swell of the tip. Her fingers won’t meet around his cock—he’s too thick for that—and she knows this would be better if she were using lube, but she doesn’t quite care enough about him to bother just now.

Not that he’s complaining, judging from the way he bucks his hips back to meet her, and the wet slap of her hips striking his ass fills the small cabin. His stifled groans sound as if he’s biting his lip to stay silent, so she squeezes his cock tight enough to make him yelp.

“I want to hear you make noise, Keene. I had enough ‘big and quiet’ for a while.” She punctuates that statement by thrusting deep, bodies joined close enough to feel his testicles against her thighs. Dog continues nuzzling at her collar, running his hands over her form, and it feels _real_ damn good coupled with the way her cock rubs her clit with each movement… and now that Keene’s panting, moaning soft and low through his open mouth adds another layer of pleasure, another sensory delight as she moves, thrusting wetly and sweat sticking her shirt to her back as Keene grunts, then groans, and she finally feels his cock twitch in her hand, a spurt of semen pulsing out and striking the bed moments before she comes, sighing Dog’s name.

Keene trembles beneath her, skin gleaming with sweat and arms shaking. She unhooks her arm from around his waist, leaning back to admire the way his ass looks with her glass toy in it.

“Huh. You were right,” she says conversationally. “Seeing the walls of your ass through an invisible cock is pretty amazing.” Pulling her hips back makes a slick ‘pop’ as she slides out, and she pats Keene’s ass for good measure. Dog kisses the top of her head, licking a bead of sweat from her hairline as she allows him to unfasten her harness. She can hear Dog starting to clean it, but her attention remains focused on Keene.

“On your feet, Keene.” Her hands rest loosely behind her back as he rises, towering over her with a defeated slump. “I will stop the embargo,” she says bluntly. “And I will continue trading Stealth Boys with you if you’d like, but I suspect I’ll be visiting much less.” She has to fight to keep a smile off her face at Dog’s small grunt of pleasure.

“Fine,” Keene mutters wearily. He raises one hand to tug the ribbon’s tail, removing the pink collar in one brisk pull. When he tries to pass it back to her, she takes a step back, shaking her head.

“That’s yours to keep.” With a smirk, she adds, “A souvenir.”

“Bitch.” The word is without heat, Keene’s gaze averted as he starts getting dressed.

Six laughs. “And you’re an asshole. Good doing business with you.”


	5. The Names We Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six may shed her names, but the scars remain.

He kisses her slow and gentle, tracing his hands over her feet and up her calves, gliding like shadows as his lips follow in secretive worship. Her skin is soft beneath his mouth, her body a temple and he a supplicant at the altar, nuzzling and breathing hot against the scars covering her form, tattoos and sacrifices to long-forgotten tribal gods.

The broad, wide-mouthed bites of a gecko, there on her thigh—he nuzzles, lapping his tongue over the white dimples left on her flesh. He tongues the bone of her hip, whispering sweet benedictions with breath and adoration while his hands slowly work up to the junction of her thighs, feeling the warmth and a primal growls escapes, because he wants, and he wants her, and—

“Not yet, Dog,” she mutters, leaning back with her eyes shut.

He whines low in his throat, and she cracks her eyes open to bless him with a smile. It is a small, secret thing, and it warms him because he knows she smiles so rarely. Or rather, this is a true smile, not a sharp-edged thing that she uses to attack.

“You are being very good. I am just not in the mood right now.” Her hand caresses his cheek, thumb tracing his jaw before withdrawing. “Just… maybe a little more. Get me warmed up.”

Dog goes back to his ministrations, using lips and tongue and (gently, oh so gently) his teeth to caress her thighs. His mouth against the inner thigh causes her to sigh, and she gasps when he sucks hard and sweet, leaving a red mark against the pale of her flesh, her hand tightening in the blankets.

He grins at her, pleased to be pleasing her. Carefully, moving slow and meeting her eyes, he asks “may I?” as one hand slips to the buttons on her shirt, the last article of clothing between them and full skin to skin contact.

Shivering, she tilts her head slightly, examining him with hooded eyes. He nearly buckles under the weight of her gaze, bowing his head in submission. Obedient, loyal dog—and she nods, little more than a dip of her chin.

So he kisses the swell of her lower belly, tongue seeking her navel as he undoes the lowest button, the shirt riding high and fabric chafing against her nipples as she hisses. He stops at that, worried that maybe he is going too fast, but she speaks.

“Keep going. Just… slow.” Her eyes are soft, lips tight—hesitation written in every line of her body, but she repeats herself. As if acceptance comes closer with every echo. “Slow.”

So he goes slow, like nectar trickling down the tongue, lips pressed to flesh and simply resting his hands over her torso, only unfastening the next button once her breathing comes sweet and easy. She pauses, a shuddering exhalation, and he waits until she finally whispers, “Keep going.”

Tender patience brings the last button under his fingers, and when he opens her shirt he studies her like art, like a convict memorizing his last sunset before the hanging. ‘Beautiful’ is a soft, bland word for a woman like her. She is beautiful like cazador wings shimmering in sunlight. She is _dangerous_ , and that gives her grace and elegance that no cheap paint or lace can hope to capture.

There are scars, yes—and he does not understand why she hates them so. There is awe in her scars, strength and memory made permanent. Bad memories, yes, but he has forgotten so much already and wonders if even bad memories might be a treasure beyond price. So he kisses her scars as much as her smooth skin, keloid slick beneath his tongue and red burns sliding beneath his cheek as he nuzzles close.

She laughs softly, a deep belly-laugh that makes her bounce beneath his chin and he grins foolishly, caught in her joy. It is warm like sun-kissed fruit, and he fills his belly with it.

“May I take your shirt off?”

Courier Six—and she’ll never be _his_ Courier Six, but he is glad to be _her_ Dog—hesitates for just a moment, then shakes her head. “No. I’ll do that.” She pushes him, hand splayed against his chest, and he shuffles back on his hands and knees to let her sit up. A shrug of her shoulders, and she’s pulling her arms free of the sleeves, leaving her naked and scarred and _beautiful_ in the moonlight trickling through the window. For a moment, he’s even jealous of the Mojave moon, able to bathe her so fully and to fall so light and sweet over her form, caressing her without fear of triggering whatever knife-sharp words or broken-glass laughter may come if he pushes too far.

But then again, the moon never got to do _this_.

She rolls to her belly, resting her chin on her hands and wriggling herself at him. Her buttocks brush against his thigh, and then he leans across her, breathing the scent of her hair and the salt of her skin. Teeth on flesh, tongue on neck, he works his way across her shoulders, savoring the feel of her body beneath his. Willing, wanting, wanting _him_ and with no tricks between them.

But still secrets.

He knows most of her scars, or at least enough of her history to piece them together. Most of them are terse stories, maybe just one or two words at most. ‘Deathclaw.’ ‘Benny,’ always said with a twist of her lip and eyes cold. For the burns covering her torso, licking across her chest and sides, she just says ‘Cook-Cook.’ And he knows not to question further.

But there are two long, thick ridges curving down her back, starting just below the blades of her shoulder and digging down like roots, like something precious and irrevocably ripped away.

He has seen them before, yes—seen them, but never asked because it never felt like the right time, like each moment with her is a precious thing of blown glass and artistry, and by pushing too hard he might shatter their crystalline peace.

But tonight is the first night she has willingly removed her shirt.

And tonight is the first night he dares to ask.

“Where are these from?” he asks, blowing cool air across her skin as he traces her scars with one broad finger.

Her response is curt, words clipped. “Cook-Cook.”

Dog swallows, not sure what he can say to that. Dog has heard stories of the Fiend, but Cook-Cook is dead. And Six prefers to let her ghosts rest. His hands ask what his mouth cannot, resting his palm flat against the burns on her back. A silent ‘ _more than these?’_

Five long, slow breaths.

Then:

“I’ve held other names. ‘Courier Six’ is a good name for now. I can shed it like snakeskin when the time is right.” A bitter laugh. “’Penelope’ was another. A sweet girl, young and stupid. She grew into ‘Bitch,’ an anger-name taken as pride.” Her voice is sharp-edged mockery, slicing away at old memories.

‘Bitch.’ Dog wonders if—no, Keene never knew. Keene never knew her as anything other than Courier Six.

“’Angel’ was a runner for the Khans. She took chems to Violet, because she was the only one those dogs would let pass.” A sly smirk, eyes bright and dangerous as she rolls sideways, catching him with a wicked gaze. “Dogs always liked Angel.” Then she chuckles, continuing her tale. “Angel got caught by Cook-Cook. She was stupid, swung out a bit too far trying to avoid a pack of radscorpions. Cook-Cook got her.”

A pause. Three breaths, short and ragged.

Finally, Six says, “Angel tried to explain she was bringing chems for Violet. Cook-Cook was… well, he was Cook-Cook. Angels don’t always fly free.” Her face is a mask now, all angles and dark humor to banish the nightmares beneath those words. “And… Cook-Cook was Cook-Cook. You can guess the rest of it.”

Two breaths, slow and easy, and she rolls back to her belly.

He rests beside her, watching her with new eyes, learning and relearning the curve of her back and the shape of her arms, wondering at the names she’s worn and the skins she’s shed, all the little pasts and histories that she cuts away with a dismissive laugh…

“Hey. I’m not broken, you know.” Her hand presses over his, fingers squeezing until he feels the bones creak beneath his flesh. “Keep nuzzling. Warm me up.”

And so he does, because he is her Dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link to author's notes at tumblr.](http://chocochipbiscuit.tumblr.com/post/89915660925/authors-notes-revenge-the-names-we-wear)


	6. Fair Trade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keene wants to get pegged; Six wants Dog to get a blowjob. They work out a fair trade.

Six leans on the old wooden fence where Lily tends the bighorners, though she doesn’t really see what the ‘tending’ is—the animals look pretty damn self-sufficient. Maybe she just bops whatever critters come too close.

Lily’s sweet—calls Dog “Jimmy” and Six “Jimmy” but somehow keeps all the different versions of “Jimmy” straight in her head. Said she was happy to see Six (and ‘happy’ is a funny word, since Six isn’t even really the grandchild she remembers) but seeing the old lady happy makes something purr inside Six’s chest. Like tramping long roads and coming home to a fire, knowing your tribe kept it burning to guide your steps.

Dog stands beside her, limbs loose, gaze heavy on her skin. She feels it like a hand over her scalp, pressing against the small of her back—catches sparks in her eyes when she turns to look at him. He blinks once, long and slow, but does not change positions.

Strange beast, that man. But loyal.

Keene’s near too. Standing by one of those old bungalows, not as subtle as he thinks. Unless he gave up on subtlety. But he’s big, bends the world around his weight like a boulder in midstream. He wouldn’t attack—doesn’t think he has enough malice in him for that, and his injured pride should have cooled. (Not that hers would, but then again, her rage _burns_. Sustains her like a living thing. And even she considers his debt reckoned.)

She waits for him to approach. Says her goodbyes to Lily as the elderly nightkin (‘elderly,’ huh. Nightkin might not have been made all around the same time, but she figures maybe the mutation halts their age. Keeps them from growing weak; keeps them from growing wise) wanders into a nearby bungalow, gravel-sweet voice offering a glass of lemonade.

Six is tempted, for truth—might come from a packet, but Lily pours enough sugar in to make your teeth hurt. Six likes it. But says no anyway.

Like hell she’ll approach Keene, but she’ll make it easier for him to come to _her_.

He comes on quiet tread—none of his swagger from their previous arrangement, but none of the skulking shame from their last encounter.

“Courier.”

“Keene.”

Keene stays to the side, out of arms reach—one of his arms, not hers. Or maybe more aptly, out of Dog’s reach. Keene’s approach keeps Six between the two men. Not as a shield, she reckons; protection. Trusting Six to hold her Dog back.

“I have six Stealth Boys.”

Laughter splits her mouth, teeth gleaming sharp as she throws her head back. “Just like old times, hm? Not interested in riding your cock.” She reaches to the side, squeezes the corded muscle of Dog’s forearm. “Kinda like this one.”

“No. Not like that.” Keene remains standing, hands clasped behind his back in some faded memory of parade posture. He still won’t meet her eyes, his gaze drifting slightly over her head as he licks his teeth. Pushes the words out. “I liked when you were behind me.”

“You liked when I was pegging your ass,” she says bluntly.

His shoulders twitch, the tendons of his neck bulging. “Yes.”

“And you want me to do it again in exchange for the Stealth Boys?”

“Yes.”

She flicks her hand. “No.”

Keene exhales, a disappointed growl rumbling through his chest. A low tremor she feels even through her boots.

Six raises a finger. “I will, but not for Stealth Boys. Something else.”

Now Keene meets her eyes, his brow crinkled. Mouth tight, trying to anticipate her next move.

“I’ll peg you _if_ you suck Dog’s cock.”

Because dammit, her mouth gets tired. And it’s not like she and Dog haven’t had this conversation before—how damn good Keene looked bent over and taking it. How hot it was to see the angry nightkin sucking cock like a goddamn champion and moaning with a dick in his mouth.

Keene looks over her shoulder at Dog, and Six doesn’t turn to watch. Doesn’t know what kind of wordless communication is passing over her head, but sees Keene relax. Watches his face smooth, his hands hang soft by his side.

“Do I have to swallow?”

“Ask Dog.”

Dog snorts, drops a plate-sized hand over her shoulder. Squeezes; affirmation, not possession. “No. Figure you’d look good with my cum on your face.”

Keene barks laughter. “Fine. Deal.”

 

So all three of them tumble into the bungalow—not immediately, but a couple hours later.

Gives Six a chance to drink Lily’s lemonade, make small talk with the doctor about the nightkin and medical shit she doesn’t really understand, but his research will help the big purple mutants and that means it helps Keene and Dog and that means it matters.

Gives Six a chance to prepare.

Because one of the _nice_ things about Jacobstown is the generator. Which means electricity, which means working refrigerators, which means _ice_.

And she has fucking _plans_ for that ice.

So when they enter the bungalow, she’s already got it all set up.

But first, the boys.

Her nipples already ache, tight and excited by what’s to come. Thighs slick, clit throbbing, she orders, “Both of you, to the bed. I want to watch. Keene, on your knees. Leaning against—yeah, like that.”

Dog sits on the bed, frame groaning beneath his weight and his legs spread. Keene kneels between Dog’s thighs, elbows resting on the meat of his thighs and already undoing Dog’s pants. Hands shaking, like he’s excited—and Six doesn’t know if he likes sucking cock or if it’s because he knows he’ll get a good pounding later, but either way it’s still fucking _hot_ to watch. The way Dog groans, cants his hips a bit—lets Keene slide the pants down, and how Keene has to stand back up to take them off completely. Keene’s still fully dressed, that bandanna around his neck, but she doesn’t like the image.

“Hey Keene. Want to see you naked too. Don’t want cum dripping on your scarf either.” Polite observation, not really framed as a demand—but Keene moves quick to obey anyway. Undoes his scarf, hisses over the knot, drops it to the side. Removes his vest, his pants—nothing on him now but skin and muscle.

Fuck, he looks good. Might be an asshole, but he looks so fucking _good_ when he’s naked. She likes ‘em big and quiet, likes the way muscle piles on muscle, gleaming in the dim light and skin so thick she could rake him with teeth and nails and he can just _take_ it.

And _fuck_ , she’s got two of them now.

She sits in an armless chair, the cushion not enough to soften the springs digging into her ass. But that’s okay, it’s all okay—she has better things to focus on than the damn chair. Unzips her fly, hitches her jeans past her hips. Kicks off her boots before rolling her pants all the way off. Rubbing lazy circles over her clit, she keeps watching. Continues directing the show.

“Okay now. Lean forward. Into it—yeah, that’s good. Suck his cock like a good boy, Keene.” And her fingers are so slippery now, makes it feel even better—clit swollen, hard like a little cock of her own. Watching Keene grip Dog around the base with one large hand. But the two of them are on the same scale, so they _fit_ , Keene taking all of that huge cock into his mouth, sucking deeper than she could dream of ever doing. Watching Keene’s head dip, lips glistening and saliva slicking over Dog’s shaft—feels good, watching Dog have fun. Feels so damn good watching his head roll back, his mouth parted as he growls, fits his hand over Keene’s cheek. Grabs his ear because Keene has nothing else to grab, not even that bandanna—and watching Dog groan and lift his hips, like trying to drive his cock down Keene’s throat, makes her feel _so_ fucking good that it doesn’t even matter that Keene’s sucking Dog’s cock and not her clit.

“Suck cock like a fucking pro, Keene. Yeah—doesn’t matter for you if it’s a dildo in your mouth or something warmer, just feels good. Yeah?” she groans, thrusting her fingers into her cunt. Because _fuck_ , watching them makes her wish she had something to fuck, to clench around. She thinks about grabbing the dildo, maybe fucking herself while watching them, but that would spoil Keene’s surprise.

Keene groans something, maybe trying to answer, but Dog cuffs him. Gentle-like, just a pat of his fingers against Keene’s skull.

“Careful. If you bite Dog, I’ll let him bite you back,” Six chuckles, but that turns into a high gasp as her fingers slip a little—thumb catches on the hood of her clit. Not bad, still nice—just not what she was going for.

But Keene learns his lesson, doesn’t try anything else—just leans in. Must be doing something nice with his tongue, maybe swirling along that vein running beneath the shaft. Something _really_ nice, since Dog’s breathing picks up and the hand not grabbing Keene’s ear twists into the covers, bunching the blankets around his fist.

Keene’s good too, his dick hard and pressing against the side of the mattress. Not too hard—thick as mutant skin is, she figures even he’s not gonna be thrilled about a chafed dick.

“Fuck, just _look_ at you,” she gasps, laughter edging around the building orgasm. “You got a hard-on from sucking cock. Looks like you were fucking _born_ to do that.”

She normally doesn’t talk this much—not unless she’s giving directions, but _fuck._ Turns her on, knowing she can talk and Keene just has to shut up and listen. And she thinks he likes it a little too, some kind of foreplay even if she’s not touching him.

“C’mon. Take him in your mouth.” Keene moves forward, one hand cupping Dog’s balls as the other grips tight around the base. “All the way, yeah.” Keene’s lips meet his fingers, his cheeks puffed out. Strange how vulnerable he looks like this, matched to someone his size and taking orders. “Hand out of the way. Want to see you swallow him to the bottom.”

And he moves, hand now gripping Dog’s thigh—the flesh dimpled just slightly around the thumb, the spread fingers—and Keene sucks deep, eyes shut and lips sliding until they rest flush with Dog’s body. Looks like he should be gagging, but any protest is drowned beneath Dog’s guttural sigh.

Six comes, just like this—fingers curled tight against her G-spot, thumb rocking over her clit. Stretching her panties, straps digging into her hips and fabric soaked in her juices. Makes such a pretty picture. She crumples forward, sighing. Shirt sticking to her back, sweat pasting it to her body. Nipples hard, perfectly visible even through the button-up shirt. Smells herself on the air, thick musk and arousal, mingling with the smoky spice-and-metal tang of the two large men trapped in such a small space.

Pulling her fingers out, she manages a slow saunter to the bed. Keene’s eyes flick open, watch her as she kneels on the mattress beside Dog. It dips beneath her weight, but not too much—Dog’s so much bigger anyway, she’s just a creak in the springs.

On her knees, leaning against Dog’s shoulder for support, she presses her wet fingers to his mouth. He parts his lips, sucks her in. Laves her hand with his tongue, circles his thumb and forefinger around her wrist. So light a touch, she could break free without any effort—but stabilizing her. He has no hold on her beyond what she allows him.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, breath warm on his neck.

Dog nods, pulling gentle with his lips over his teeth. Sucking her fingers, all the way to the knuckle. Soft echo of Keene’s mouth on his cock, makes her clit throb in mirrored synchrony. Fuck.

“Hell, this’d be hot to try again sometime. You fucking me, him cleaning your cock after. Servicing you just like you service me. How do you like that?” she asks, brushing her lips over his ear. Too much bite to be a kiss, but as gentle as she gets. Pulls her hand from his mouth to let him speak.

Dog talks with his eyes still shut, holding her hand up to his nose and sniffing deep. Catching all the scents of her like he’s trying to hold it close inside his chest. “Like coming in you better.” Cracks his eyes open, gives a lopsided grin with too much teeth to ever look anything like nice. “But if you wanted, sure.”

Keene knows better than to comment now. Six is half-disappointed; would have made an excuse to scold him.

“How can I help you come?” she asks Dog, running her nails along the back of his neck. Digging in, hard enough to raise red welts on anyone else but his mutant skin’s tougher than that.

Dog arches back against her hand, wetting his lips. “Touch me. Talk to me.” He growls, thrusts—the mattress jostles beneath his weight as Keene chokes, pressing one hand on the base of Dog’s cock to brace himself again. Six would have fallen over if it weren’t for Dog’s supportive hand. “Tell me I fuck better than him.”

She chuckles, watching Keene’s forehead crinkle, lines between his eyes. Bet he’d be biting his tongue if his mouth weren’t full of Dog’s cock.

“Course you do. More practice. The way your hips slap my ass—the way your cock curves. Perfect fucking fit.” Six nuzzles Dog’s cheek, tilts his chin to expose the hollow of his throat. Bites soft over his Adam’s apple, relishes the way his breath hisses out. “Fuck, you’ve wrecked me for ‘bout anyone else. Not just a big cock, but you know how to _use_ it.” Little bit of spite, a twist on her lips as she adds, “Don’t have to give _you_ directions on how to tilt your hips or change your rhythm.”

Carefully not watching Keene, but she can feel the way Dog’s thighs tense as Keene digs in. A wet, sloppy sound as he sucks Dog’s cock. Wonders if he’s angry, and that’s feeding some kind of kink, or if it’s shame. Still feeding the kink, just different.

“And you’re great with your tongue. Love the way you lick me all over, can cover me from ass to clit with one stroke. Gets me so fucking wet every time.” She places her hand over Keene’s, his knuckles against the cup of her palm. Props herself up to nuzzle Dog. Feels the tension run through Keene. “You make me come harder, faster than anyone else. _Especially_ fucking Keene. You’re good, Dog.” Presses her lips against his cheek, dry kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So damn good.”

Dog’s mouth hangs open, gulping air. “Fuck. Coming, gonna—“

“On his face, not his mouth,” Six reminds him, reaching between his legs. Wrapping her hand around Dog’s cock as Keene pulls back, aiming as Dog hits climax with a shudder. A spurt strikes Keene square on the nose, Keene growling and shaking his head. The next spurt hits his cheek, dripping over the planes of his face as Keene glares at her. The milky glaze makes his anger ridiculous, makes her chuckle even as he hisses.

“Six. I can eat you too.”

Not negotiated, but she knows an opening when she hears one. Sits on the very edge of the bed, leg bumping Dog’s as she tugs her panties down her thighs. Keene shuffles awkwardly to the side, still kneeling, and grabs her knees. Starts bracing them apart before she slaps his fingers with a warning.

“Careful. Don’t want to rip the underwear.”

Dog rumbles agreement, sliding a hand under her ass and lifting as he hooks his thumb into the front of her underwear. Keene grips the sides, the two men working together to pull them off completely. Feels nice, pampered—feels nicer as Keene slots his hands under her knees and Dog fits himself behind her, her back flush with his chest. Keene licks hard, fast—too hard, sloppy and near-painful on her clit. She grits her teeth, inches back.

Dog mutters, “Not like that. Soft tongue. Broad strokes.”

She rests her hands on Dog’s thighs, nuzzles her cheek against his chest as Keene adjusts accordingly. Keene’s eyes open, watching her. Intent. Learning to anticipate her gasps and shudders as he traces wet lines over her labia, thrusting his tongue inside to taste her core. Feels good, but not gonna make her come. Not that she _needs_ to come, not when it’s fun just like this, but it makes her want to throw fuel on the fire.

“Dog does it better,” she croons, eyes half-lidded and watching Keene’s face blotch with frustration. “Dog does it right where I need it—circles the clit, can work a finger in when I’m ready for it—sucks my clit when I’m aching for it…”

It’s different telling him what to do like this, using jealousy to spur him on instead of command. But Keene doubles his efforts, follows each whim. Thrusts two fingers into her, too fast if she weren’t already so wet from watching Keene suck Dog’s cock. No friction, just slick pressure and fullness as he pushes in. Dog gives him more instructions, tells him how to crook his fingers. Tells him to keep going, even when her thighs clamp around Keene’s neck and he’s breathing hard through his nose, mouth muffled against her cunt as she climaxes hard. Good to come like this, pressed between Dog and Keene. One of the best fucking orgasms she can remember.

Thighs sticky, from both her own pussy and Dog’s cum smeared from Keene’s cheeks. _Fuck_. She’ll want a shower later, but for now it feels delicious to lie back, sighing deep breaths with Dog her obedient backrest.

“Suck my cock?” Keene asks, still too much pride to beg even as his gaze drops to the floor.

“Fuck no. Not our deal.” Six pats his head, runs her thumb over the smooth lines of his skull. “But I can peg you good.”

He leans back, and she shifts her knees to the side. Gets up, takes her time ambling to the kitchen. Takes a bowl from the fridge, half-filled with water and ice chips. Her glass dildo sitting in there, nice and frosty to the touch as she pulls it out. Pats it dry with a faded towel, then slides it through the harness, strapping it in place so it fits snug against her skin. So fucking cold on her clit—but that’s her gauge. It’ll warm up as Keene does.

The dildo looks fucking ridiculous on her frame. Oversized. Massive. Huge as Keene and Dog’s cocks. Obscene as she struts back to the bedroom. Keene’s still bent over on his knees, elbows digging into the bed as Dog lazily stretches.

“On the bed. On your back, Keene. I want to watch you come with my cock in you.” She grabs a bottle of oil, the bedframe creaking as Keene moves into position. Takes a seat between Keene’s legs, the icy dildo brushing his inner thigh.

He hisses, scooting away—Dog grabs his foot, yanks him back into place.

Keene looks so fucking helpless on his back, like some kind of tortoise flipped over. Cock hard, resting on his belly as he grips the pillow, elbows jutting. Biting his lip, big man scared but still not ready to admit it.

“Relax. You wanted me to fuck your ass, right?”

“Not with a fucking _icicle_.”

“It’ll warm up. Want me to stop?” she asks, but she’s cheating—slicking her fingers in oil, massaging it around his ass. Feeling him relax, even though he’s a tight fit—tighter than she remembers, but then again, last time Dog had been the one working his ass. Maybe it’s nerves, the outer ring tightening around her finger. She rocks back and forth, tiny thrusts until she works a second finger behind the first. _Width_ is his problem, not depth. She can slide in to her knuckles, scissor to stretch him.

“I’ll stop if you want,” she reminds him.

He shivers, closing his eyes. She’ll stop, yeah, but she won’t suck his cock or ride him or let him fuck her into the mattress. And he knows it, must be playing out all the dirty scenarios she won’t do with him anymore (if she ever would have) because of his fucking lack of judgment.

“Keep going, Courier.”

Still won’t open his eyes to look at her—but that’s okay, she can still watch him gasp as she thrusts a third finger in. Doesn’t even wait for him to relax before working her fourth in. Once in she doesn’t bother bundling them together, but keeps them flat. _Stretching_ that ass, but he’s so fucking big and she’s got so much oil on him that he’s relaxing in spite of himself.

“Take a lot of cocks up that pretty hole, Keene?”

He grunts, turns his head. Won’t answer.

“Talk to me.”

“No. Just,” he hisses, lifts his hips to meet her hand, “keep talking. Doesn’t mean I have to talk back.”

“Fine.” So she dips her fingers, curves a little—just enough to feel out his boundaries before pulling her hand out. Dog pours more oil on her hand, a slippery mess that will stain the sheets and just about everything else, but better too much lube than not enough. She rubs it over her cock, oil doing nothing to blunt the chill glass before she presses it to Keene’s ass.

Keene _whimpers_ , soft and pathetic. Fucking hot, her clit aching even against the frosty glass. She must be getting hornier or the dildo’s thawing, since it doesn’t feel so blazingly cold anymore. Means she has to work fast to keep that temperature shock.

So she presses her fingers below the bend of Keene’s knees and Dog fits his hands below hers, lifting and tilting Keene’s hips for her. Dog holds Keene just like that as she presses the cold dildo against his ass. The coolness must be soothing some of the stretch, since even though Keene shivers he’s not hissing.

“Feels fucking cold, doesn’t it? Don’t worry—it’ll warm up as you do. So fuck me back, warm that cock up so you can come for real,” she drawls, letting Dog keep Keene in place as she bucks into him. Tiny movements, teasing. Letting him feel that chill move all through his core. Keene’s cock looks so damn lonely, just bouncing with her movements. She thinks about touching him, but that’s a reward for good behavior. Right now he’s just enduring, not behaving.

Keene groans, grits his teeth. “Too damn cold.”

“You’re just not trying hard enough.”

So Keene growls and rocks back onto his spine, wriggling his ass for her. Amazing to see how much cock he gobbles up this way, the contrast with those sharp lines and grotesque muscles and the sheen of Dog’s cum still on his face. The way he moans with his ass stretched around her cock, the way she can see the walls of his ass through the dildo when she leans back. So exposed for a man who doesn’t like being seen.

Keene still won’t meet her eyes, but that’s okay. He’s rocking, and she feels the dildo warm against her clit. Must be warming for him too, since some of that whimper eases out, replaced by pleased grunts as she rocks into him. He’s pushing back as much as she’s pushing in, her thighs slapping his ass while Dog keeps him braced for her. Bouncing with all her weight, pounding hard—brutal the way she likes taking it, the way she knows Keene would love to give it to her. But roles flipped, icy dildo sheathed deep inside.

“Can you come without touching your cock?”

“Fucking—no, _please_. Want you to touch my cock,” Keene whispers hoarsely.

“Then look me in the eyes and beg.”

A shudder rocks his massive frame. His jaw clenches, and she thinks maybe she finally pushed too far—but then his eyes open and he swallows. “Please. _Please_ touch my cock.”

“Use my title.”

“Please touch my cock, Courier.”

She snorts, squeezing his balls. Her nails prick the delicate skin behind the sack, and his gasp is a delight. “Full title, Keene.”

“ _Please_ touch my fucking _cock_ , Courier Six!” he roars, frustration echoing through every syllable. Windows-rattling loud, the kind that will let anyone walking around Jacobstown know exactly how wound up she’s got him.

“Fine. Don’t have to shout,” she chuckles, adjusting her grip. Cruelly tight, a quick up and down with her oiled hand, no fancy movements—but doesn’t have to be much, just a couple strokes before Keene climaxes. He groans, rocks into her as his cum spatters over his belly, a dribble of white seeping into his navel.

Dog kisses the top of her head, drops Keene’s knees and rubs broad circles with his thumb on her back. Good Dog.

“How are you feeling, Keene?” she asks, pulling out. Clambers back, Dog making room for her as she stands up and undoes her harness.

“Good,” he mumbles, tongue thick. Like he’s still processing, maybe learned a couple things about himself in the meantime.

She quirks an eyebrow, setting the harness aside. She can always wash her toys later. Or have Dog wash them. “You alright?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” Keene groans, pushing himself upright. Doesn’t meet her eyes, his face turned to the wall. Swipes his forearm across his brow. “I fucking _asked_ for this, didn’t I?” Swipes again, a little lower.

She doesn’t do sappy shit, doesn’t have it in her nature to probe. She’s gentle like the moon on sands, only because the moon’s too damn far to touch anything with more than its light. But the moon still holds the tides in thrall.

“Well, if you want a couple minutes, feel free. Dog and I are going to bed.” She squeezes Dog’s hand, pulls him into the other bedroom. Lets him pet and fuss because Dog feels better when he feels useful. Dog rubs her back, brushes and braids her hair, then tucks her in bed with his body curled around hers. Guarding her like she needs it. Like he wants her to need him.

Keene’s gone by morning, but she catches a glimpse of a purple figure in a red scarf when she and Dog leave Jacobstown.


End file.
